The following is a depiction of the best day of my life, and the events that went down as I perceive them today:

I cannot recall what day it was. I cannot recall what season it was. I cannot recall what I was wearing, what was popular at the time, nor what I had for lunch in the cafeteria that day. I am 35 years old. When I look in the mirror, I can tell that. I see the bags under my eyes. I see that my front teeth (top) are not there anymore. I see that scar above my left eye. Between that day and now, 23 years have passed. And those years were packed full of drugs, sex, and alcohol. So asking me to remember my childhood is like asking me to recite a poem I have never read before. There are photographs in my mind, but I know that eventually those pictures will fade. However, there is one memory that will never collect dust.

About 2 weeks prior, I was sitting in my 4th-grade class. Our teacher was named Mrs. Ranks. Such a wretched sounding name. Just doesn’t roll off the tongue. She didn’t like me very much, because I was the class clown, but I liked her because I knew she cared about all of us. One day she announced:

“Hey, everybody, we will be having a ‘reading week’ soon. I want you all to write a letter to someone to invite into the class to read us a story.”

I mention this because it is the catalyst for this story. This assignment would set into motion the best day of my life, which would occur later on.

I heard the muffled remarks as my fellow 4th graders, as they began writing to their parents, their moms and dads, gleefully asking them to come read to us. Meanwhile, I could not stop thinking about the book I had been recently reading. When I thought of storytelling, I thought of this book. My mother worked in a school, and my dad didn’t give a shit about me, so inviting either of them to do this seemed out of the question. So raced through my own mind to try and think of someone. Everybody is writing at this point. The room is enveloped in total silence, with the exception of the scraping of pencils all around me. And as I stare at the blank piece of paper in front of me, all I can think about is getting back to that book I am reading. So I pick up my pencil and begin writing (note: I do not recall the exact wording I used in this letter, so the following is loosely quoted)...

’Dear Mr. King,

I am a 4th-grade student at Central Street Elementary School in Gardiner, Maine. We have been assigned to invite someone to come and read to us. I have chosen you. You are my favorite author. I have read a lot of your books. Please come and read to us. Remember, I am your number 1 fan.’

I took a glance at the copy of ‘Pet Semetary’ by Stephen King resting in my book bag, before handing the letter into my teacher. Turns out, my friend caught wind of what I was doing and sent a letter to Mr. King as well.

Weeks passed and I didn’t really think about it. To be honest, I almost forgot about even writing the letter. I enjoyed having people’s parents come in and read to us. I cannot recall what they read, but I remember being engaged.

And now we are here. Now we are at the best day of my life.

The bell rung. That was the bell that rang when outside recess was over. I remember because it always sounded to me like something bad was happening. I suppose I was correct, because who the hell wants recess to end?!

I was walking beside my friend, Tom. He was a cool kid. He held a striking resemblance to Macaulay Culkin in ‘Home Alone’. We would later form a band called “Manticore” and would play a Metallica cover at our 5th-grade talent show.

So Tom and I are walking through the school going to our homeroom. We descend the stairs from the second floor and he turns to me.

“Did you see that?”

“What?”, I responded.

He pointed to the top of the stairs, so I turned around.

And there he was. There, standing at the top of the steps, talking to our vice principal, was Stephen King. I was dumbfounded at first. For a second, I felt like I was in a different dimension, which was quickly followed by a feeling of excitement in my gut. I think I actually giggled a little bit and we went back to class.

Stephen King came to our class and read to us. He read a story entitled “The House On Maple Street” which at the time had not been published. It would later be published in the short story collection “Nightmares And Dreamscapes”. I hung on his every word. You have to understand, I have been a fan of the horror genre in both film and writing since I could read. King is an idol of mine, even at the young age of 12. And now, not only is he here, but he is gifting us by sharing work that he has done, that NO ONE else has heard. It was an exceptional feeling. I was sitting here, in dead silence, only instead of the sound of scratching pencils, the only sounds were of my idol reading his work and passion. I remember snickering a little bit because there were swear words in that story.

He read like he was telling a story. He set a mood. He made us live the same nightmare that he was reading, and it was fantastic!

When the story was over, this one wasn’t. There was a cake. I do not recall what kind of cake it was, but I remember that it had white frosting. We sat and talked as 4th graders do, and ate cake. My eyes were fixated on him though. I still could not believe that someone who had such influence on me was right in front of my face.

And then it happened. Mrs. Ranks spoke up…

“David and Tanner, come up front.”

Holy shit! Okay. So I rose up out of my seat and walked towards the front of the room, where my idol was sitting in a chair. I was like a child, walking up to Santa Claus. Fuck that! I WAS a child walking up to Santa Claus!!!

Tanner and I both stood on either side of him, as people snapped pictures like we were on the red carpet.Hell, to our class maybe we were! But I was still so terrified, thinking that I looked foolish. Thinking about the many classmates that had invited their fathers to this reading week. And I couldn’t do that. Instead, I had invited someone who I wished was my father. An adult male who truly inspired me. It made me want to cry in that second. Why didn’t my dad love me? Why did he hate me? Why couldn’t I be like the rest of the kids? Why why why fucking why?

I suddenly realized that Stephen King had extended his hand to me.

“Shake the hand that rocked the world.”

I shook it…. That’s all I remember.

It was the best day of my life and I will never forget it.

This is my retake on the classic poem, "Twas The Night Before Christmas" but about the inauguration. Please, if you are a Trump supporter, do not get offended by this. This is simply me being creative and portraying my personal feelings with a pinch of satire.

Twas the night before the dystopia, and all through the house,

All of the beer was going into my mouth.

The votes have been cast with a notion of fear,

And it’s evident that the end is preeminent and near.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

Most likely unaware of the future we dread.

And I on the couch getting ready to FAP,

To take my mind far away from this crap.

When from around the nation arose such a clatter,

the sound of protesters, protesting the matter.

But their words will be drowned like they have in the past,

Because unfortunately, we can’t rise from the ash.

Our voices mean nothing, when we scream “NO”,

In a system where we are not directing the show

When what do my throbbing, aching ears hear?

That he’s already planning for “4 more years”.

How can he jump to an assumption so quick?

The answer is simple, the guy is a dick!

And the time approaches when they certify his name,

And he can finally play, start playing his game.

“I’ll build a wall! Yeah! That’ll fix em’,

And I’ll put it to Muslims where I decide to stick em’!

And fuck those freaks with their religion and shawls,

While we’re at it, fuck women, cause I’m a man and have balls!!”

It’s like a hurricane of evil, and bullshit and lies.

Are we going to go bankrupt? Are we gonna die?

Up through the rankings and primaries he flew,

And now it seems there’s nothing we can do.

This is now happening, like a real life spoof.

It’s clear it was tampered, there’s freaking proof!!!

But no matter how much I try to keep from this frown,

He is right at our door, about to knock it right down

He dresses in fine suits, and shoes on his feet,

And he talks like a reject from Sesame Street.

He arrived in a limo, and wouldn’t step on the cracks,

And shouted promises empty, along with made up “facts”.

He seems very lumber for the ego he carries

And his palms are tiny, most likely hairy.

He makes these expressions like he’s being anal probed.

And his plans for our future? He doesn’t seem to know.

His hair is either a wig or a weave,

And his skin is the color of of foliage leaves.

He has weird thin lips, for the lies he will tell me.

And shakes he laughs, at the times that have befell me.

He looks like an old heirloom, collecting dust on the shelf.

I laugh when I see him, in spite of myself.

With a wink of his eye, and a shake of his head,

The life in my our future, seems suddenly dead.

He speaks many words, but seems to not know how to work.

And fills all the pussies, with a grab and a jerk.

Yet still he has the nerve to look down his nose,

At the majority of us that pay for our clothes.

And every critique is met with dismissal,

This is the guy we’re gonna trust with the missiles?!

The people fed in, and took more than a bite,

You seem tired, America…. Nighty night.

My mistakes. My heartbreaks. My flaws. My regrets:

These are what makes my skin.

My dreams. My passion. My fantasies:

These are what makes my organs

With each passing moment I feel more and more sick to my stomach. Who have I become? At what point did I become this evil force. Where did it come from. How could I have done this to you?

I remember the first day I brought you into my home. I secured your feet so that you could not get away, and dragged you into the darkest corner of my home. I felt no need to duct tape you, because thus far you had not spoken a word. I remember staring at you, and pondering your perfect beauty. Even in terrified silence, you still managed to make the room all that much better looking. That was on day one.

With each day that passed, when I would come to see you, you looked worse and worse. You were getting thinner, your skin was changing from a healthy pigment, to a sickish brown. I leaned down and asked you what was wrong, but you still said not a word.

I will probably always remember our last moments together. The day that I walked into the room, and there you were, slumped over… lifeless… dead. I deflated in that moment. It was like I had finally acquired something beautiful, and sadistically tortured it to death. I was, am, a monster.

Perhaps I am being overly dramatic about this. I just forgot to water you, and I am sorry. I should have never bought a houseplant.

Okay so it is hard to know where to begin with this film, so I am just going to start typing and see where it goes. First off this movie does not rank on the worst horror films that I have ever seen, but don't take that to heart. Because as a horror fanatic, I have definitely seen a good share of god awful pieces of crap in my day. Like seriously. Give me the film cannister. I'll take a nice warm shit in it, and you can release that in theaters. It will probably get better reviews.

I like the idea of this movie. It focuses around a wooded area called the Aokigahara Forest in Japan, otherwise known as "The Suicide Forest". This is a supposedly very haunted place, where people go to commit suicide. What makes this so intriguing is that the Aokigahara Forest is an ACTUAL place in Japan, and yes, it is infamous for being a place where people go to turn themselves into worm food. It is considered such an evil place that locals refuse to go there at night. If you walk through you are sure to encounter a number of corpses, as the only real means of clean-up is an annual sweep of the area (the last report publicised in 2003, turned up 105 bodies). The forest has an extensive history before being known as The Suicide Forest, but let's get back to the movie.

So in this film, Sara Price (played by a still very fuckable Natalie Dormer) is having some wacky dreams that involve things jumping at her. She has a twin sister who has wandered into The Suicide Forest in Japan and has disappeared. She decides to go to Japan (you know, because that seems like the best idea) to try and find her sister (played by… Natalie Dormer). She keeps having scary dreams about things jumping at her, and eventually meets someone who will wind up being her guide, Aiden (played by Taylor Kinney). The two start bonding over beers and during this interaction we run into one of the worst foreshadowing moments I have ever encountered.

While discussing her family history, Aiden asks Sara how her parents died. She tells a tragic story of a drunk driver plowing into them and making them road pizza outside of the family home, while we are treated to a montage flashback of the incident.

Sara’s recollection: We heard a loud crash outside. My grandmother went down first. My sister was ahead of me, and she saw it first. She said they were just laying on the lawn. I had my eyes closed.

What we see: First, we see the three (granny, twins) sitting on the couch and we hear a loud… two gunshots? Okay, thought it was supposed to be a crash, but oh well. Anyways, the granny goes down the stairs and as she turns the corner, see the mom laying dead on what appears to be… a basement floor? I thought they were supposed to be on the lawn, but oh well.

Okay okay, before all of you who have seen the movie jump down my throat because it is revealed later on that her parents actually did die in a murder/suicide. But there is a reason that I have a problem with this scene and I will get to that when I get to that point in the movie. Right now I am just giving a timeline.

So it is pretty obvious that Aiden really wants to fuck Sara by the way he looks at her, and I can’t say I blame him. Anyways, Sara has yet another nightmare about something jumping at her and when she wakes up she is introduced to a local who will be a guide in the woods with them. I would name his character and the actor who plays him here, but he seems to be mysteriously absent from the film’s IMDB page. I may be wrong on that, but I don’t really feel like putting any more effort into finding it.

The guide goes with them into the woods, all the while making ominous creepy statements about ghost and shit. They start looking for Sara’s sister, and before long they stumble across her empty tent. The guide says that they need to get going because it is getting dark, but Sara insists that she is staying to wait for her sister to come back, and Aiden says he will stay too, because… you know… he wants to fuck her.

Sometime during the night, Sara wakes up and Aiden isn’t there, so she naturally freaks out and goes looking for him and she is jumped by a young schoolgirl named something Japanese. Guess what happens a few moments later? That’s right! Sara wakes up.

So then Sara is talking to Aiden, and it turns out that he knows Jess (the sister) somehow, because he has a picture of her blatantly displayed on her phone. I didn’t trust that guy to begin with… I knew he didn’t love Sara.

Now, at this point I have to be honest. This movie had bored me to the point that I left to go watch porn and rub one out… eh hem… I mean I left to make a snack in the kitchen and eat it. When I came back some time had passed because I couldn’t pause the movie, but if you want a fun game to play, you can watch the movie and that will tell you how fast I can finish!

So when I came back, Sara is underground in some sort of pit. Things are jumping at her again,and eventually she wards them off with her willpower and finds a haunted viewfinder in the dirt, which dramatically shows her the truth about what happened to her parents.

STOP!!!!

Here we are. The point where I give my first opinion on why this movie actually sucks. The reason that shows that despite having an incredibly cool concept to work with, writers (you know what? I would rather not name the THREE of them), have no idea how to write a horror story…

… This moment is supposed to be a reveal. This is supposed to be a “holy fuck” moment for us. But it isn’t, and you know why? BECAUSE THEY ALREADY FUCKING SHOWED US THIS IN THE FIRST FUCKING ACT!!!!

Sure, it IS a “holy fuck” moment for the character. But you know why that doesn’t matter?

BECAUSE SHE IS A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN A MOVIE AND YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE TALKING TO THE AUDIENCE, NOT THE FUCKING FICTIONAL CHARACTERS IN YOUR STUPID MOVIE!!!!

This is as bad as assuming I am drunk (which I usually am). You are actually staring me in the face, and saying “you are too stupid to remember what you saw less than an hour ago, so this will be epic”. Well, Nick, Sarah, and Ben (oh hey look, I did name them), if I ever see you, I am going to BITCH SLAP each one of you until YOU can’t remember what happened five minutes ago!

But to make up for that, there is even something that jumps at her in the viewfinder (give me a fucking break already).

After this point I really can’t say much about this movie. It’s the same shit over and over again, Aiden turns out to be the one who held jess captive, Sara goes to save her, she goes to escape, and it turns out that Jess is the one escaping, and everything that Sara has been experiencing in the woods as she dies from self-inflicted wounds is essentially… get this… a dream.

::Deep breath::

::Another deep breath::

So, that is “The Forest” in a nutshell, minus the time I spent “having a snack” out of the room. I will be a happy star, and start out with the positives about this movie…

The acting is good. I imagine these people were given a script, and said,”okay, this seems easy enough”. The film is shot beautifully, with great lighting, great shot composition and transition, and everything is in focus.

I LOVE the concept, because it is based around a real location, with a real history, with a real taboo. That just makes it interesting as hell, what a great concept!

But the film is just executed poorly, with modern day shitty horror movies in mind. And if you are familiar with my reviews, you know that this is something I have a problem with. Let’s talk for a minute about “jump scares”.

“Jump scares” are moments in a movie when something jumps out at you and startles you, and you say “holy fuck, fuck you, I hate you”, or something along those lines. They are meant to jolt you and make your hair stand up for a moment. And they are definitely effective in the moment.

This movie is jam-packed full of them. In fact, I think jump scares are responsible for about 99 percent of this movie even being called a horror movie. Every time something is supposed to be frightening, it is due to something quickly lunging at the camera while a loud screech deafens your ears.

But here is the thing about jump scares… they wear over time. The fright fades. After a few times, it’s not even scary, it’s comical. The first time I watched this film, yes, I jumped, I got chills… the next time I may jump at the ones I don’t remember…. The third time I’ll probably fall asleep. And that is NOT what horror is!

Horror is the terrifying idea of the film, and when you overlap that with a dump truck of jump scares, you completely ruin any sort of scary aspect you are trying to convey. The next time I watch “The Forest”, the most memorable part will be when I go in the other room and masturbate out of boredom.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, the final shot is a jump scare, which just makes the whole thing even more… masturbation provoking (ridiculous)? Maybe this film should be considered a porno instead.

Ever since I saw, say “The Shining” I have thought about that movie every day of my life. Because it wasn’t just a bunch of shit thrown into my face at random moments, it was an intricate story of a house taking over a man, that man losing his mind and trying to murder his family. THAT is scary, and THAT is horror. It isn’t just a bunch of flashy scenes and loud noises to freak me out the first time around.

Conclusion: You know that little drop of pee that gets on your underwear after you take a piss? That scares me more than “The Forest” ever will. I am convinced that real horror is lost in Hollywood, and they should make a new genre called “a bunch of jump scares for pussies”.

Hey fuckers with my fist in the sky

I will stand against this till the day that I die

When I watch the debates it's clear to me

that this country is blind and cannot see

that this isn't a joke 

and it's not time to choke

and we can't risk our lives voting for this bloke

Yeah he says what comes out of our mouths

but there's a reason we aren't all in the White House

because we really don't know what we're talking about

and we just want the freedom to be walking about

It's not that I think we're all mindless sheep

it's that I think we've all been put to sleep

by a presidency 

that brought us all to our knees 

and it's hard to come back from that treason B

And it wasn't our fault that it rocked our core

that those planes flew in and we went to war

what is this for? 

It's hard to take it anymore

How much oil does it take to fill a Ford?

Hey fuckers with my fist in the sky

I will stand against this till the day I die 

So do you think when someone says "we are all part of the same race, because there is only ONE race. The HUMAN race." Do you think dogs take offense to that? Like maybe they find it racist against their species. Maybe a better word would be 'specist'. I think I just made up a word.

What about aliens? Maybe they aren't landing here very often because they hear us saying this stuff and they are like "fuck this place, these people are nazis. Let's go to (insert galaxy), there's a great drinking spot there."

...I'm gonna stop typing now.

Well, this is it. I'm putting on my lipstick, staring at myself in the mirror and thinking 'finally. He is finally gone.' I have waited for weeks.

It's not that I don't love him. I truly do. I have loved him since the moment I met him, and I still get a quivering in my stomach when I think about that day. The day he approached me in the parking lot at Hannaford and handed me a T-bone steak.

Who the fuck does that?

It was the weirdest thing anyone had ever done for/to me. I didn't say anything. He broke through the silence and said "I had to make sure you weren't a vegan. I could never date a vegan." I laughed under my breath, but our eyes were locked and I smiled. "Look", he said, "I have another steak in my bags. How about you come over for dinner and I'll cook these up for us."

That was 9 years ago. Shit, in two months it will have been 10! The time seemed to board a fighter jet and it just flew right the fuck on by.

Jesus, Sarah, get it together. Tonight is your night. It's time for you to forget him, go out, and have a blast as a single lady! And be honest with yourself, you need to get LAID! The same dick for 9 years, progressively getting more and more vacant as time went on? Fuck that!

Suddenly the bathroom door swings open and I have to jolt myself back to reality. The smell of women's perfume reenters my senses, the deep beats of club music reenter my brain, and my buzz comes back. Jesus, how many have I even had tonight?

In the mirror, though, there is not a lady. It's a guy. A very handsome guy. I think I remember him, I'm pretty sure I was just dancing with him. I don't know him at all, and I don't really care to.

He stands in the middle of the ladies bathroom, with a nervous look on his face.

"I'm not supposed to be in here", he blurts out, "so if we are going to do something lets do it."

I bite my lip and think 'whatever, go for broke'. I walk up to him, grab him by his button down shirt and pull him into the stall.

He is clumsy. Slobbering all over my neck, trying to get my shirt off. I help him out, but I just have questions running through my mind.

Is this it? Have I been waiting over 9 years just to get fucked in the bathroom of a club that I even particularly like?

I should have just taken him back to my place. But I can't. I wouldn't want him to find my husbands now decomposing corpse in the closet.

Will I remember this? Shit, will HE? When he sees me on the news because they have arrested me for bludgeoning my husband to death with an iron, will he say "hey! That's that woman who I screwed in the bathroom last Friday!"

Whatever. I guess I'll just live in the moment for now.